


Ab Extra

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Shippy Gen!Fic, and the shipping is largely ~implied~, jsyk, silliness, the T rating is for swearing - mostly in Spanish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8399032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: " - don't need your help," snapped a strangely familiar voice. Goodnight frowned, mind tumbling through page after page of distant memory, trying to place it. "It's four goddamn stairs, I ain't scaling a mountain.""You almost fell coming up the porch, guerito," a second voice responded, chiding. The low, thick accent of it jarred Goodnight starkly back into the past, immediately revealing the identity of both speakers. "Just give me your hand, idiota terco.""Damn," Billy muttered with feeling, as he too recognized the strangers. He cut a dark, knowing look at Goodnight, eyes narrowing at the sudden, elated edge to Goodnight's grin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> OOPS FORGOT THE SUMMARY HAHA
> 
> You guys gotta stop spoiling me with such wonderful lovely comments, jeez! Because now, when I have a weird day and want to write some cowboy husbands gen!fic to cheer myself up I think about darling **Kat2107** asking where the others are and whether they know about Faraday and Vasquez riding off into the proverbial sunset together.
> 
> This is just a bit of silliness on that idea, from Goodnight's perspective because a) I've never really written him before and wanted to give it a shot and b) I wanted to explore the Faraday/Vasquez dynamic from the outside. 
> 
> Though this is technically in the same chronology as the Heaven Need a Sinner series, I think it stands well enough alone.
> 
> Not beta read, sort of fast and loose but hopefully still enjoyable!
> 
> <3 <3 <3

Sometimes Goodnight Robicheaux felt like a man thrice-damned, the yoke of his sins cast heavy around his shoulders, back bowing under the strain of struggling to stay upright when his transgressions sought nothing more than to drag him down to the fathomless pits of hell. It had been a bad turn these past few days - the slavering jaws of judgement breathing down his neck in cold gusts while that damnable owl wheeled overhead, sinking nearer and nearer with every great sweeping pass of its wings. He'd been better and worse by turns in the long year since Rose Creek - bolstered by the memory of the townsfolk's naked gratitude on some days and carved down to a quivering wreck by the phantom echo of gunfire on others.

Billy, saint that he was, had been loitering near, as always, ever ready with a cigarette or a soothing word in public, running his thumbs across the deep shadows beneath Goodnight's eyes or humming strange, distant songs from his homeland until Goodnight could breathe again whenever they were alone. He was more than Goodnight deserved, without question. Someday, the quiet voices that haunted the edge of his mind whispered, Billy would realize it, and Goodnight would be caught in a snare of his own making - holding Billy to him viciously, desperate not to lose him, while the strength of his grip, too tight, too fierce, would shatter whatever fragile notion of will kept Billy near.

It had been raining since Tuesday, an unseasonable chill creeping throughout the little hamlet they had stumbled upon in the mountains of New Mexico. It was barely more than a handful of buildings clustered together, but the townsfolk were friendly enough and it beat getting caught out in the woods, shivering through the night terrors under a soggy lean-to. The owl always drifted closer when the weather was bad, riding the electric current of thunder as it rattled in the distance, any sounds that might warn of approaching ghosts shrouded beneath the incessant, dripping tattoo of the rain.

"Goody," Billy murmured, voice low and concerned. Goodnight blinked, tearing his eyes away from some hazy space in the middle distance, and offered a wan smile.

"Apologies," he breathed thinly, gratefully accepting the freshly-rolled cigarette that Billy offered out to him. The tobacco hit hard, as it always did, thick and pungent and making his head swim for a few blissful seconds before it settled down into his lungs, the empty, narrow spaces in his body where fear crawled its way in. He exhaled, slow, and handed the cigarette back.

"Much obliged," he sighed, smile a little stronger this time, though Billy was still watching him from the corner of his gaze, a strange glittering mix of wary and fond.

There was a passable musician hammering away a cheerful tune on the pianoforte in the corner; a handful of locals playing cards, the low hum of their conversation cresting to raucous laughter every once in awhile; a few of their fellows, less endeared to Lady Luck, sulkily nursing their losses at the long bar. The whole room was warm with joie de vivre despite Mother Nature's foul temper howling against the windowpanes, all lit up gold in the soft glow of the oil lamps, a stark counterpoint to the slick blue-black sheen of the storm spread across the windows.

It was dark enough, Goodnight thought, a cold knot seizing in his chest, that anything might be crawling toward them even now, impossible to see through the shadows.

"Hey," Billy said quietly, nudging his knee against Goodnight's under the table, frown deepening when Goodnight jumped at the sudden contact. "We're fine."

"Indeed we are," Goodnight grinned - wide and broad and fake - sprawling gaily back in his chair with the long ease of practice and taking a swallow of whiskey. "Secure against the storm and in the fine company of what appears to be half the town."

Billy watched him for a long moment, narrow-eyed and obviously not buying the act. Goodnight let his grin soften to something more natural, more honest, and risked a wink. Billy's lips quirked sweetly in response, the little up-tick at the corners of his sly mouth that conveyed precisely how ridiculous he thought Goodnight was being.

The outer doors of the saloon - kept closed against the gale - swung open with a creak, the distant wail of wind loud even over the music and what appeared to be a particularly rousing hand of Faro, based on the sudden din. Goodnight swallowed, eyes flashing wide and fearful, the tight knot in his chest expanding in frigid, icy spikes. It looked to be two men, though he couldn't be sure with the swinging parlor doors, the scene partway blocked by a thick wooden pillar. They were muttering to themselves lowly enough that he couldn't quite make out the words over the sudden pounding beat of his pulse in his ears.

"We're fine," Billy repeated, calm and certain, bumping Goodnight's knuckles with his own and proffering the half-smoked cigarette without looking, his attention similarly directed toward the commotion.

"'Course we are," Goodnight agreed vaguely, sparing a moment to smile thinly at Billy before returning his gaze to the doors at the front of the room, and the waterlogged strangers beyond. He took a deep breath, inhaling around the cigarette and letting the warm curl of smoke chase off the some of the frightful cold lodged between his ribs. Settled by the muzzy haze and Billy's steady presence at his side, Goodnight tilted an ear to the newcomers.

There was a short set of stairs leading into the bar proper that appeared to giving the fellows no small amount of trouble.

" - don't need your help," snapped a strangely familiar voice. Goodnight frowned, mind tumbling through page after page of distant memory, trying to place it. "It's four goddamn stairs, I ain't scaling a mountain."

"You almost fell coming up the porch, guerito," a second voice responded, chiding. The low, thick accent of it jarred Goodnight starkly back into the past, immediately revealing the identity of both speakers. "Just give me your hand, idiota terco."

"Damn," Billy muttered with feeling, as he too recognized the strangers. He cut a dark, knowing look at Goodnight, eyes narrowing at the sudden, elated edge to Goodnight's grin.

"I can do it myself!" the first voice hissed insistently.

There was an exasperated huff and then, in the practiced tenor of an old, old argument, "Guero, if you fall, you get angry that I didn't help you. If I help, you get angry that I didn't let you do it yourself. Both ways, you are angry, but _my way_ you don't get hurt."

A long moment of mutinous silence.

"Not a word," Joshua Faraday muttered furiously, shoving his way through the swinging doors and glaring at the floor. He had his fingers curled, white-knuckled, around the hand of none other than Vasquez, and was limping his way up the steps under the careful, watchful eye of his law-dodging counterpart, looking as surly as Goodnight had ever seen him.

"Claro," Vasquez, for his part, didn't seem at all bothered by Faraday's grousing. He was smirking, amused, and patiently waiting for Faraday to ascend before following along behind him.

"I'm counting that," Faraday grumbled meanly, dropping Vasquez's hand as soon as he was up the stairs, though he remained hovering close at Vasquez's shoulder.

They looked about the same as they had last time Goodnight had seen them - with the exception that neither was covered in blood and Faraday was conscious. Vasquez's hair was maybe a little longer, curling down over his collar in the back and tufting over his ears, and Faraday looked looser, as if the weight of that almighty chip he carried might have diminished some over the intervening months.

They appeared to be well at a glance - hale and long-healed, for a given definition of the term considering Faraday's limp, if a bit on the damp side. Though Goodnight had hoped absently that fortune deigned to favor them after the battle - as he did with Sam, Horne, Red; hell, all the men he'd been honored to call brothers in arms - it was a pleasant surprise to see the proof of it in front of him. Especially considering that when he and Billy finally left Rose Creek all those many moons ago, Goodnight would have put a significant sum on the two of them flat-out murdering one another within the week. They'd been circling like angry wolves, snapping their jaws anytime they came close, some sore-edged conflict sprawled out like a chasm between them, visible even from the outside.

Goodnight turned a mischievous smirk on Billy, who stared at him flatly for a long moment before sighing, long-suffering.

"Go on," he grumbled with a little, acquiescent dip of his head, a glossy lock of dark hair falling into his eyes. Goodnight spared a moment to appreciate how lovely he was - for which Billy retaliated by narrowing his eyes and swatting Goodnight gently on the arm - before picking up his glass and pushing himself to his feet.

"Joshua Faraday, as I live and breathe!" he announced grandiosely.

Faraday whipped around with a startled wince, only Vasquez's hand at his elbow keeping him from going ass over teakettle onto the floor as his leg wobbled beneath him. He steadied himself with a hand on Vasquez's shoulder - not even bothering to look for it, so confident that it would be precisely where he needed it - and lit up with delighted recognition when he saw who was hollering at him across the saloon.

"If it ain't Goodnight Robicheaux!" he greeted with a grin, limping over to give Goodnight's hand a vigorous shake. "How long's it been now?"

"Going on over a year, by my count," Goodnight replied, pleasantly relieved to receive a warmer salutation than he had expected. Although his much belated return to Rose Creek and subsequent rifle coverage of Faraday's suicidal ride had gone a long way to soothing his ire, Faraday was a man of shallow trust whose temper ran deep. They had barely settled to a lukewarm acquaintanceship before the owl started roosting too near, its looming shadow driving Goodnight back to the open road once more, Billy good enough to go along with him despite the terrible error he had almost been too late to correct.

Goodnight returned Faraday's handshake with joyous enthusiasm and turned to offer the same to Vasquez.

The outlaw's greeting was more sedate, though no less sincere. He had been surprisingly good company in the infirmary while Faraday was still existing in the spaces between consciousness and pain; gregarious for all that he had a bounty out on his head, and with an understated sense of humor that Goodnight appreciated, always lending a hand to repairs or in the fields during the day and posting up at Faraday's bedside afterward, muttering prayers under his breath into the small hours of night. Goodnight dipped his head in acknowledgement rather than calling Vasquez by name, as one could never be too certain of the interested ears in their company and a wanted man was a wanted man, no matter the weight of his good deeds or the esteem of his fellows.

"Why it truly is a pleasure to see you boys again," Goodnight continued, giving them both a long look over. He wasn't that much older than either of them - a decade at most, though some days it felt closer to centuries - but he felt a sort of warm, almost paternal pride at finding them still living well and free. He gestured with his glass to where Billy was keeping their table. "Care to join us? We could have ourselves an impromptu reunion of sorts."

He kept the invitation light, better acquainted than most with the reality that sometimes memory was palatable only at a significant distance.

Here, he experienced the third shock of the evening, as Faraday glanced to Vasquez curiously, seeking some silent counsel on the matter. During their time in Rose Creek, Faraday had been the living epitome of a man who shot first and asked questions later - proven over and over and over again in a hundred different ways throughout the brief span of their acquaintance. Vasquez didn't appear the least bit surprised by the deference, simply shrugging noncommittally in response. Reservations apparently assuaged, Faraday turned back to Goodnight with a broad grin.

"Why the hell not?" he said, clapping his palm to Goodnight's shoulder and not commenting on his mildly flabbergasted expression. "Good a place for a fiesta as any, I reckon."

Behind him, Vasquez tilted his head toward the bar.

"I thought you wanted a drink, guero," he said with a grin, arching a devilish eyebrow and adding, sotto voce to Goodnight, "Two miles through the rain, he doesn't stop complaining about whiskey."

Faraday narrowed his eyes, smirking meanly at Vasquez as he said, "You wanted to help me so much, why don't you bring me one?"

Vasquez cupped a hand around his ear and leaned forward, frowning with his brow furrowed exaggeratedly, like he was trying to make out a whisper across a great distance.

"What was that, guerito?" He asked curiously. "No te entiendo."

Faraday glowered mutinously, that same quick-fire temper that Goodnight remembered flaring in his eyes. Vasquez just grinned at him, unperturbed.

"Try-may-low," Faraday grumbled darkly. Vasquez clicked his tongue, disapproving.

"Otra vez," he said, and though Goodnight didn't speak the language he could tell it was an order, had heard enough of them barked down the line to pick out the tone.

It was like watching a couple of performance fencers parry back and forth, blades dulled but with all the vicious brutality of men out for blood.

Faraday sighed hard through his nose.

"Traémelo," he said. Vasquez made an expectant face, eyebrows high. Faraday sighed again. "Por favor."

"Better," Vasquez grinned, wide and smug, patting Faraday amiably on the back before turning and heading toward the bar.

Faraday watched the line of his retreat for a long second, expression caught between an irritated scowl and something gentler, a softness to his gaze that Goodnight was hesitant to pin a name to. With a shake of his head and a little huff, he turned his attention back with a grin.

"Well, then. Shall we commence with the festivities?"

"After you," Goodnight invited, swinging an arm toward the table.

Faraday moved without issue on a flat plane, gait uneven but sure-footed. He was a little slower than he had been before the battle, though that might have been on account of the affable good humor that seemed to have settled over him rather than any lingering effect of his injuries.

He'd had a raw-edged aggression to him before the battle, readily apparent to anyone who so much as glanced his way, but Goodnight had seen angrier men gentled by war. Though Rose Creek may not have been a war on paper Goodnight had lived through more than enough of them to know it for what it was. He was intimately acquainted with the heady gratitude that could saturate a man's bones, living through a thing like that, the sheer magnitude of it enough to cool even the hottest of tempers.

"So," he said amiably, strolling along at Faraday's lazy pace and sipping at his drink. "You learning Spanish?"

"Ah," Faraday said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug and nodding his head, sheepish. "A little. Didn't do so much book learnin' when I was young." He shrugged again as they drew up to the table, pulling one of the chairs back with a creak. "Figured I oughta start somewhere."

He grinned at Billy and tipped his hat as he removed it, settling it over the back of his chair. Billy, never much for histrionics, simply inclined his head in return.

"Handy skill for a man to have, two tongues," Goodnight continued approvingly, lifting a finger off his glass and gesturing toward Billy as he dropped into the chair beside him. "Billy'll tell you. How many scrapes you think it's saved us from thus far, your speaking English and Korean?"

"Less than if _you_ spoke both, as well," Billy said slyly, and Faraday barked a laugh.

"My mother always said I had a flourish for words, but alas she was never to know that it was a talent exclusive to our fine tongue," Goodnight said lamentably.

"Useful skill even so," Billy said, smirking at Faraday.

"Might could be someday," he considered, scratching thoughtfully at his chin. "Mostly all I know is how to swear, and ask for - " He paused, mouth snapping shut, and glanced to where Vasquez was leaning against the bar, chatting amiably with the bartender. "Well, anyway. Not up to any true conversing just yet."

"Bettering oneself through the acquisition of knowledge is always a worthwhile pursuit," Goodnight said jovially, "and it carries no date of expiry of which I have ever heard tell."

"I forgot the way you talk," Faraday said, grin sharp and teasing. "Like somebody wrapped a book up in a coat and told it it was a man."

"If we all aspired to eloquence the world might be a friendlier place," Goodnight said demurely. Beside him, Billy huffed a soft laugh, and Goodnight didn't have to look to know that he was rolling his eyes.

Vasquez appeared over Faraday's shoulder, a glass in each hand and a wolfish grin in place.

Goodnight had forgotten how the man could loom, tallest of the lot of them though Faraday himself wasn't far behind. They were big bastards, both of them - and though Goodnight knew from years spent in Billy's company that it was usually David who came up tops over Goliath, it was humbling to remember that he walked shoulder-to-shoulder with men who stood quite so ominously above their fellows.

The part of Goodnight that read danger in every dark corner wondered vaguely which of them would come out alive should their good humor sour. Faraday was a crack shot with his Peacemaker, though his build clearly favored a bare-knuckle brawl. They both were exceedingly sly, and Vasquez quick enough with those flashy pistols of his to make Billy work for his money, besides.

Billy nudged his knee again, and Goodnight startled out of the low, deadly calm of his mind - whispering, whispering - back into bright warmth of the saloon. He swallowed, thick, and nodded his gratitude. Billy dipped his head, but there was the tiny shadow of a furrow on his brow that spoke to his lingering concern.

Across the table, Vasquez set one of the glasses down in front of Faraday and said, "Bebélo lenta. I don't want to carry you back."

"I'll drink it how I damn well please," Faraday replied with a snort. He took a short sip and reached over to pat Vasquez on the arm while he settled into the next chair over. "Gracías."

Vasquez swatted his hand away and took a long pull from his own glass, full halfway up with some indefinable brew clear as a crystal stream.

"Pray tell how you gentlemen came to be traversing the wilds of New Mexico," Goodnight invited with a grin.

"Headed back to _old_ Mexico," Faraday said, smugly pleased with himself at his pitiful turn of phrase, yelping when Vasquez elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow!"

"We went up north, first," Vasquez said, totally unconcerned with Faraday glaring at him from the side, mad as a spitting cat. He wrinkled his nose. "Not much to do in a place that cold, so we decided on somewhere warmer." He shrugged. "Seemed as good a place as any, and guero has never been."

"'Course I ain't," Faraday grumbled, smirking and leaning over to pat Vasquez on the arm. "Why would I? Nothin' down there but mean-tempered asses and cowboys in flashy pants, and I got me both of those right here."

Vasquez snorted and shook his head, brow furrowed in mock-confusion over top of his grin.

"This is the pendejo who claims all the time that I have no sense of adventure?" he asked. Faraday made a face in response and returned to sullenly sipping his whiskey.

"You been together awhile?" Billy asked in his careful deadpan. Goodnight pressed his lips together in a thin line, knocking his knee against Billy's in a gentle reprimand. Billy just nudged him back, intent on their company across the table.

"Ever since we all met up that first time outside Junction City," Faraday said agreeably, glancing at Vasquez for confirmation. "So, going on a little more than a year now?"

"Sí," Vasquez nodded. "Except for the week in Texas when you got angry and decided to part ways."

Faraday's face flushed and he shoved Vasquez hard enough that the other man nearly fell out of his chair, snickering darkly to himself despite the sudden burst of his companion's ire.

"It was _three days_ , and you wouldn't stop following me the whole time so that hardly counts," Faraday snapped.

Billy cut Goodnight a meaningful look. Goodnight shook his head, a tiny subtle shift, in dismissal of the implications.

"Saddest three days of your life," Vasquez agreed, flashing a grin to Goodnight and Billy. "For a man with no home, he's not very good at sleeping outdoors."

"Not when I'm bein' tailed by sour Mexicans with itchy trigger fingers, I ain't," Faraday grumbled hotly. "It's a wonder we weren't eaten by coyotes, you howlin' the whole time."

"I was _singing_ , guero," Vasquez corrected easily. This too had the practiced cadence of an argument that had seen many repetitions. "Trail songs, for morale."

"Morale my ass," Faraday grumbled, barely audible over the lip of his glass. "Stopped soon enough once I let you catch up."

"Catch up?" Vasquez scoffed. "I was giving you space, guero. Is what we do with the fussy mares when we are driving them to brood."

Faraday stared, red-faced and furious, for a long second. His temper, for all that it seemed to have softened like sea-glass under the ebb and flow of Vasquez's continued company, was still a bitter and fragile thing, with the potential to be just as dangerous as ever should it break. Goodnight felt the night frozen around them, poised to shatter.

"Pinche cabrón," Faraday huffed, bluster sloughing off of him like water off a duck. He rolled his eyes and kicked Vasquez playfully under the table. His smirk had a sharp edge to it, but that same hazy softness that Goodnight was loathe to misidentify glittered in his eyes. "You never drove horses in your damn life."

Billy raised an eyebrow and Goodnight was forced to shrug his concession. It was a funny thought, if it was indeed true - Chisolm unwittingly putting together a gang half made up of mollies; that same gang responsible for the slaughter of one of the least righteous men this side of the Mason-Dixon. He sighed a short, sharp laugh through his nose and grinned at Billy, who smirked smugly back at him.

"What about you two?" Faraday asked, gesturing to the saloon around them. "Got business in these parts?"

Goodnight blanched.

There was no good way to explain that the owl that had haunted him since the war, had followed him through states and beyond borders, screaming and whispering in the dark, was hovering at the tree line on the edge of town, barring their way forward, toward a hefty bounty in the Arizona territory.

"We work mostly for pleasure now," Billy supplied with a shrug, and the tension in Goodnight's chest snapped and faded under the soothing tone of his voice. His smirk went mean at the edges as he continued, "And there are always men willing to test their luck."

"Hear, hear," Faraday said brightly, knocking back a hefty slug of whiskey and hissing through his teeth. He grinned at Billy. "Still in the habit of bringin' a knife to a gunfight, I expect?"

Billy shrugged again.

"Don't need anything else," he said easily. Faraday hooted a laugh, Vasquez grinning wide and amused beside him.

"You _are_ a damned magician with those pig-stickers," Faraday said wistfully. "I've a mind to learn myself, watching you slice your way through half a' Bogue's men the way you did."

"No, guero," Vasquez said immediately, tone dark and serious. "I don't need to see you lose an eye, or a finger."

Faraday wagged his pinky, grinning. "Not even a little one?"

Vasquez shook his head, staunch and somber. "I like your fingers where they are. Even the little ones."

"I might look dashing with an eyepatch," Faraday said thoughtfully, taking great and obvious joy in exploring the scenario despite Vasquez's discomfort.

"You already look stupid much of the time, guerito," Vasquez said mournfully, clapping an insistent hand to Faraday's shoulder. "An eyepatch would only make it worse."

Faraday snorted and shrugged him off.

"Just for that," he said smugly, "I'm buying a knife."

Vasquez frowned.

"You _have_ a knife."

"Another one, then," Faraday said lazily, waving a hand in the air. Billy made a little, considering noise.

"We're here a few days," he offered thoughtfully, face placid, the tiniest tilt at the corner of his mouth giving his game away to those who knew to seek it out. God, but he was a damned treasure, Goodnight thought gleefully. "I could give you a discount on lessons."

"Todos ustedes son terribles," Vasquez grumbled, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

Across the table, Faraday winked delightedly at Billy, grin wide and easy, and polished off the remainder of his drink. He peered into his empty cup for a moment and then wagged it back and forth.

"I'm up for another," he said jovially. "You fellas care to have a second round?"

Billy glanced over at Goodnight, who considered for a moment.

The owl might be hovering in the distant woods, but here were three of the men he trusted most in the world, all of them more than equipped to drive the beast off into the night should it dare to venture closer. He sighed, contented and reassured, letting some of his weight lean into the warm line of Billy along his side.

"Sounds mighty keen," he said agreeably, though he still had a slug or two left at the bottom of his tumbler.

"Hey," Faraday smirked at Vasquez, sharp and puckish, and slid his empty glass over, "traéme otra, por favor."

Vasquez stared incredulously at him for a long moment, and then huffed an almighty sigh and pushed himself to his feet, grumbling under his breath as he stalked toward the bar. Faraday watched him go with a wide, self-satisfied grin.

"Cheers to me," he said smugly.

And really, Goodnight thought, as Billy chuckled beside him, what was there to do but laugh?

**Author's Note:**

> Translation time!
> 
>  
> 
>  **Idiota terco:** Stubborn idiot  
>  **Claro:** Sure/of course  
>  **No te entiendo:** I don't understand you  
>  **Otra vez:** Again  
>  **Traémelo:** Bring me one  
>  **Por favor:** Please  
>  **Bebélo lenta:** Drink it slow  
>  **Gracías:** Thanks  
>  **Pendejo:** Asshole  
>  **Pinche cabrón:** Fucking bastard  
>  **Todos ustedes son terribles:** You are all terrible  
>  **Traéme otra, por favor:** Bring me another, please
> 
> Another fun fact: "ab extra" is a Latin adverb meaning "from the outside!"
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, my darlings!
> 
>  **ETA:** Oh! Also! I have a [Tumblr](http://thrillingest.tumblr.com) now! It's very sparse and I don't have a ton of free time so it will likely stay that way but I welcome messages and prompts!! <3 I'm also on Twitter @thrillingest if that's more your cuppa, as it is mine. ;)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Ab Extra](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8503870) by [MistMarauder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistMarauder/pseuds/MistMarauder)




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